Vampire Hunter D: Pale Fallen Angel Parts Three and Four (5 page)

“Knock it off,” he said in a voice that somehow called to mind the growl of a carnivore.

“These little bitches are out of line,” Zanus said, putting his hands on the shoulders of both. His fingers didn't exactly sink into them, but neither May nor Taki could move in the least. “Mister Lagoon, let's forget the whole deal. The only thing that's gonna satisfy me now is to hang the two of them from Madison Bridge.”

“Sorry, but since we've already set the price, they're my property now. Get your hands off them. Now, take this and go, will you?”

A thin gold bar was placed on the table.

“No, save it. I wanna make these bitches listen to their own necks snapping.”

“Zanus,” the giant said, his eye vested with a terrible gleam.

But Zanus didn't respond at all. “You ready to see your whole place wrecked on account of these two?” he asked in a soft tone.

Smiling thinly, the giant remarked, “Vlad would be heartbroken, I'm sure. Over the loss of such a good subordinate, that is.”

“Fine,” Zanus replied, letting his white teeth show. “Show me a little more sincerity, then.”

The giant's hand slid across the tabletop, and three more bars of gold appeared.

“Thank you. That's what I'd expect from the owner of a place like this. You really know your way around. Well, they're all yours, then.”

Taking his hands off the girls' shoulders and collecting his bars of gold, Zanus then departed in high spirits.

Now left alone with the giant—Fisher Lagoon—Taki and May remained frozen in their seats. Ordinarily, the act of taking the two of them from Zanus should have lent him some humanity or perhaps earned him some gratitude, but as he sat there before them, the intensity that radiated from him in some ways surpassed that of Zanus.

“We were tricked, you know. Let us go,” Taki said.

Without changing his expression in the least, he declared gravely, “I paid more for you two than I intended. And you'll have to work it off. We get all kinds of folks here. Out of them all, we'll give you the kind of clients new girls have the hardest time with to get you used to the work.”

Running his eyes over the list of names on a screen set in his desk, he said, “Tonight, it'll be—oh, is that Mister ‘Porky' I see? And then there's—”

Here his breath escaped him. On their first day, the two “new girls” got to see something rarely witnessed by anyone: a look of fear on Fisher Lagoon.

-

III

-

When D and the baron arrived, the village was dissolving into the twilight. However, it was bright. Blindingly so. Along the streets, torches and atomic lamps glowed warmly, while tables and chairs were set out haphazardly where the people could while away their time with steins of beer and monster chess and pleasant conversation. Though the yard of each and every house had its gate closed, light still spilled from the windows, while at bars, restaurants, and even the general store—anyplace one might get a drink—every door remained open, ready to welcome all guests. The sad strains of a gypsy violin rang in the baron's ears as he sat in the driver's seat, while fireworks tossed by children exploded in a rainbow of colors around the feet of the mounted D. When the baron and D were spotted, it came as little surprise that folks' expressions changed and the street musicians halted their performance, but once they'd passed, they left no wake at all as the same jovial atmosphere returned.

“Strange place, isn't it?” the baron said to the Hunter. “On all the vast Frontier, this is the only place where villagers enjoy such a vibrant nightlife while their feudal lord remains in power. It's been this way ever since I left.”

“When was that?” asked D.

“There is no sense in our kind speaking of time,” the baron replied, but after saying this, he smiled wryly. “Pardon me. I can't help but keep thinking of you as a Noble.”

“That's a laugh!”

Narrowing his gaze, the baron asked, “Did you say something?”

D tightened his grip on the reins with his left hand and replied, “No.”

Getting the feeling he'd heard a tiny cry of pain, the baron strained his ears, but he heard nothing further.

“Should you happen to be concerned about the two girls, there's a hotel called the Rivers Inn if you turn right at the fourth intersection. Take a room there. I'll give you more information as it becomes available.”

This meant that their journey would end at that point.

In less than two minutes they arrived. It was just an ordinary intersection.

“I'm in your debt,” the baron said, handing D a heavy sack. “There's what we agreed upon. See you.”

D said nothing, but halted his horse, as if watching his employer's back to the very end. The dark carriage passed by without a sound. After watching it melt into the darkness at the end of the road, D turned right at the street corner.

The Rivers Inn was about ten minutes away. Many inns in Frontier villages were humble affairs, but as the communities grew larger, they were often divided into separate lodgings for merchants and general travelers. But the Rivers Inn was neither. To put it bluntly, it was for millionaires. The first floor boasted a restaurant, bar, and casino, while the parking lot was filled with the very latest gasoline-powered cars and steam-driven vehicles, all polished and gleaming in the moonlight. The standard carriages were all drawn by at least a half-dozen horses and were lavish, adorned with gold and other precious metals.

Winding the reins of his horse around a hitching post that seemed to have seen no use at all, D then stepped into the foyer. The singing voices that soared to the accompaniment of the piano and violin dropped like dominoes as D moved toward the front desk. Even the bodyguards who kept a razor-sharp eye on the patrons in the hall and lounge couldn't move in the least, as if they'd been struck dead. A grim reaper in black had intruded on this world of multicolored splendor—but what a gorgeous reaper he was. Although the people had been turned to statues in part by the ghastly aura that surrounded D, they were also lost in his handsome features.

Tell anyone without the finest carriage and clothing that we're full
—those were the orders the man at the front desk had been given, but the second he saw D step through the door, he forgot all about the fearsome manager's mandate.

“Do you have a room?”

“Indeed we do. The very best suite. However, I hardly think it would be up to your standards, sir.”

“A single will be fine. Kindly give my horse some synthesized protein later.”

“Yes, sir. And the payment for your stay will be—unnecessary.”

As D stared at him, the clerk at the front desk returned to his senses and told the Hunter the correct charge. Paying for three days for the time being, D took the key and was headed over to the stairs when a coquettish voice and porcine laughter spilled from the bar off to the left.

“Mr. Balcon, you can't be so cruel to a girl who just got here today,” said one of the women in a tickle of a voice as she writhed in a virulent tangle of bodies.

“Do I look like that sort of reprobate?” replied a corpulent man who looked to easily weigh four hundred fifty pounds.

While the arms of the women were wrapped around his neck and torso, their eyes feverishly embraced the tall figure behind him—a young man dressed in a black suit. Neither his face nor his build resembled that of Balcon. From the way he carried himself and the look in his eyes, he had to be a bodyguard.

“I'm only going to engage in some gentle conversation. Unlike those other dirty old men, I'm not out to take a ‘peek and a poke' at the private areas of some young virgin. You see? My interest, in fact, is purely in staying up all night talking,” he bellowed, an explosion of vulgar laughter filling the hall before flowing out toward the entrance.

-

When he arrived at Fisher Lagoon's in a carriage drawn by six galloping horses, Balcon was promptly surrounded in the front hall by the women who accompanied the madam. Though he had the poorest imaginable excuse for a chest, a chin that disappeared into five or six rolls of fat, and a belly that sagged like a sow's ass, the hands that reached for the bulge in his pants were prompted in part by a professional approach to customer satisfaction, but the proof that the act was mostly motivated out of very real interest was the way every last woman had her eyes rolled back in her head and drool spilling from the corner of her mouth as she moaned incessantly.

This was the result of the sexual stimulants mixed into their daily meals and aphrodisiacs in the incense that even now filled the air. The longer they stayed, the worse it became, and in fact, spending a mere week in this house would make these women slaves to the endless swell of carnal cravings that came from within, smothering the will to escape and leaving them animalistic bitches in heat who did as their master and his clients commanded and pleasured them in any way they desired. And although there were naturally many clients who sought that sort of woman, the calls were even louder for virgins pure as the driven snow. As a result, “scouts” of sorts set off for neighboring towns and villages and even went all the way to the Capital to find fresh girls to meet Fisher Lagoon's endless demand.

“You have the girl from the earlier communiqué, I take it?” Balcon asked the foxlike madam.

“But of course, Mr. Balcon. Have we ever said we had a girl and not delivered? She's up in the penthouse suite, sure enough, just awaiting your arrival, Mr. Balcon. Although the girl did arrive just today, so she may be somewhat impertinent. Please try to keep that in mind. And another thing—” the madam said, lowering her voice to add, “though we don't mind a few broken arms and legs, you mustn't kill her.”

“I know, I know. That last one—Giselle was it?—I was drunk then. But as you can see, I'm practically sober today,” he said as he coughed a cloud of seemingly inflammable breath on the madam.

Stopping and looking all around, Balcon said, “By the by, is that old dog Lagoon not going to come out to greet me today either? Five years I've been coming here, and in all that time, I can't remember the owner showing his face even once. Don't you think that's a bit rude of him?”

“Begging your pardon. You see, the boss's motto is that no matter how pretty our girls are, folks would lose their taste for taking their pleasure if they were to see his face. But that's fine, isn't it? After all, a greeting from the boss wouldn't change the thrill from the girls in the least.”

As the crafty old woman stated her case plainly and stared at Balcon in an unpleasant manner, something seemed to suddenly occur to the rotund man.

“Well, there are places like this in even the smallest villages, but it really seems strange that you could build a bawdy house this big and showy right in plain sight of a Noble's castle and make so much hoopla without ever bringing down their wrath. Though they fulfill their own desires by drinking blood, the Nobility have a thing about stamping out the human pursuit of pleasure. Why, there have even been establishments that drew just a little attention to themselves, and as a result not only the patrons and staff, but also the proprietor and his family were all slaughtered. Most peculiar. I can't get over this. What's more—” Now it was his turn to lower his voice as he said, “I've heard rumors. They say the owner of Fisher Lagoon's is actually the bastard son of a Noble. And an unbelievably high-ranking one at that—”

No sooner had he said that than the madam's expression paled.

“What are you trying to say? The boss is a genuine, full-fledged human, mister. A Noble's child would be Nobility. And didn't you yourself just state one of them would have nothing to do with running a house like this? And a Noble's child that wasn't Nobility would be a dhampir. Even that would be half Noble. They'd be bowled over by spending too long out in the sun long before you or I would, but they could lose an arm without it being any major concern. I swear to you, the boss is human. I've seen him out in the sun buck naked, and when he got stabbed in an argument with a testy customer, he needed major surgery. Although I'm the only one he shows it to, from time to time he lets me see that he's still got the scar from it on his belly. And knowing all that, Mr. Balcon, do you still insist on seeing smoke where there's no fire?”

“Don't be absurd,” Balcon said as he turned away in a snit, his fears allayed by the madam's harangue.

And yet, the madam grinned from ear to ear. That was part of her job consciousness, and she realized they couldn't afford to allow such a valued patron to grow any more sullen. She was a true professional. A young man in black stepped smoothly to the fore and said, “That will do.”

His voice was sweet, but had a great power to it. The girls around Balcon writhed at the sound of it, with one of them even kneading her ample breasts.

“I'm heading up to the penthouse. You come with me,” Balcon said to his dashing bodyguard as he swung his great belly around, adding for good measure, “The other guy can watch the carriage. You think he'll be okay?”

“He'll keep a good eye on it. That's about all he can do in the shape he's in.”

“Come to mention it, he sure is a confident, creepy customer. Maybe we'd have been better off not bothering with him.”

The nondescript elevator arrived then, and only the madam and the two men got into it.

Just as it went into motion, the madam recalled what they'd been discussing.

“Who is this creepy character you're talking about?”

“This guy we picked up in Shabara Canyon on the way here. He's missing one arm and so covered with bruises we thought he was a goner, but somehow he's still alive. What's more, he asked us to take him to the village of Krauhausen, and said that in return he'd act as a bodyguard. There's folks out there that really take the cake. Well, he was so dead set on this, I figured we'd take him along and score some positive karma. But to tell the truth, I have to wonder if he'll live to see tomorrow.”

“Have you taken him to see a doctor?”

“Rubbish! What sense would there be in taking someone who can't be saved to the doctor? Now that would be a true waste of good money.”

While Balcon was speaking, the elevator halted and the group stepped out onto a roof where the moonlight danced with the night breeze. Some sixty feet away, the shape of a building could be discerned, with windows lit by lascivious red lamps. The rooftop was bordered on either side by the darkened forms of enormous trees. Yet each of them was more than three hundred feet away, so there was no fear of penniless perverts trying to use them to get a free peek at the action.

“Here's the key, sir. I'll be going now.”

Both the madam's words and the sound of the descending elevator faded, and as Balcon started down the torch-lit pathway, his eyes were already shamefully bloodshot and his breathing ragged while his tongue hung out. As a matter of fact, he'd even forgotten all about the bodyguard following along behind him. However, and perhaps this was to be expected for someone of his sort, there was one tiny point of risk management of which he remained aware: the sound of his bodyguard's footsteps. As long as they continued to trail after him, he would be safe.

At first glance, the man simply looked like a tall lady-killer, but in the “Capital of the West” he was counted among the five best warriors. His specialty was the throwing knives that he had concealed within his suit coat. Balcon himself had seen the man drop five flame beasts charging at a hundred twenty miles per hour in a second.

In the time it took him to reach the door and use the key to open it, there was no change at all to the sound of his bodyguard's steps.

The room he entered was a small but lavish living room, and next to it was the bedroom. As Balcon surveyed the bizarre implements of torture laid out in the living room, his face seemed to melt in rapture. For what he excelled at was tormenting tender young girls with the cruelest of devices. Seeing the girl tied spread-eagled on the bed in a bedroom without curtains or screens, he was positive that tonight would indeed be pleasurable. With her limbs lashed to the four bedposts by cords, the girl apparently hadn't been drugged at all, and as she noticed Balcon approaching, she struggled madly. It went without saying that nothing could excite a man like him more than that. A black whip in one hand and an electric cattle prod in the other, he stood at the foot of the bed and focused a gaze that could no longer even be described as human on the crotch protected only by the girl's thin pair of panties.

“There's a good girl, missy. Uncle Balcon's going to have fun with you all night long.”

And saying this, he held the cattle prod up so the gagged girl could see him switch it on. Blue lightning danced across the tip of it, making the girl's eyes go wide in terror. And that was everything he desired in a woman.

“We'll start out with the light stuff. This prod. Come now, there's nothing to be afraid of. All I'm going to do is singe your privates a little, okay?”

But even as he started to bring the cattle prod down between her thighs, the girl didn't move a muscle. Her eyes were staring right at Balcon—no, over his shoulder, and on realizing this, he also noticed that the young girl's gaze didn't contain the merest hint of fear.

As he was about to turn, the man felt an icy steel grip close on the scruff of his neck and the wrist of the hand that held the cattle prod, freezing the portly Mr. Balcon solid. Slowly craning his neck around, he looked over his shoulder and managed to see a dark figure—a handsome young man in black. However, this beauty was neither that of Balcon's familiar bodyguard, nor that of anything of this world.

Beneath her gag, the girl shouted something. Although the cloth stuffed in her mouth prevented any words from escaping, she'd exclaimed, “D!”